


even a statue may yet feel

by kryptic_pear



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Drabble, Light Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 22:36:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kryptic_pear/pseuds/kryptic_pear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dream a little dream of me. Plus bondage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	even a statue may yet feel

Eames hates working for the military. More than almost anything. Certainly more than he hates being poor. But it's not about the money. No, it's about the dreams. It's about the power. His smile is small and pointed. The man raises his head an inch, interested. It's not uncommon that Eames finds himself in situations like this. How many soldiers dream of strip clubs? More than he cares to remember.

That's when he notices the new guy for the first time. Cobb's little apprentice. He waits on Cobb's every word. Gulping up the crap he spews like it was the holy word of God. Not that Cobb doesn't know anything. He and his wife basically wrote the book on dreams. Not to mention his father in law. It's just, he paints a world of rules. Like everything is set in stone. They're in dreams, nothing is permanent.

Eames ignores the target to walk over to Cobb's table. Cobb's pointing out something when Eames leans over the table, offering a nice view of his more than ample cleavage. The boy looks startled. And now that Eames is closer he really does look like a boy. Young, maybe too young. But there's a hard line to his mouth and he looks at Cobb as if waiting for permission. Cobb tilts his head, then frowns, "Get back to your job."

Eames smiles, this time wide and warm, "Sure thing sugar."

He doesn't see the boy's eyes on him when he walks back to the target. But he hopes they're there because the stilettos he's in are a bitch. He deserves something for all this effort.

Eames doesn't last long in the army. Certainly not after Cobb leaves for his 'private research' with Mal. Whatever that means. It's not a surprise, Eames wasn't ever cut out for following orders. What is a surprise is that Arthur quits before him.

Maybe it shouldn't be. But it is.

He doesn't see Cobb or the kid for almost a year. Doesn't think about them either. But then he has a little dream. Cobb and Arthur don't don't get far, Eames' projections are vicious. He had plenty of material to fill in from his time in Afghanistan.

When he wakes up, he's got company.

"What a .. dare I say, pleasant, surprise?"

The kid looks even more serious than the last time Eames saw him. Both he and Cobb are silent. Eames watches them for a moment longer. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"There's a contract."

"A contract?"

"We just need to steal a formula."

"And you need me because-?"

"We need a forger for this job. You're the best."

It isn't a question from Cobb's mouth, but he can see the question in the kid's eyes. He smiles, flashing white to blind. "Sounds like fun." He doesn't see the way the kid's eyes linger on his smile. He's too busy wondering if this will throw the men off his tail who have been trying to kill him for three weeks.

The first time he meets Yusuf, he dreams of Arthur. They are in a plain room. Arthur is sitting in a simple chair, not looking up. Eames tries to touch him, but all he feels is cold stone, like he's touching a statue and Arthur doesn't flinch. He starts to visit Yusuf on a regular basis. It's beginning to be the only way he can dream.

He does a few jobs with Cobb and Arthur. Cobb is always agitated to be away from home. Eames thinks Mal is unhappy. She can't research the way she likes when watching kids. Arthur hates having Eames around. When they aren't arguing they pass the time in silence. Eames learns how to read the facets of his distaste and anger. He learns how to push buttons. He forgets the kid he first met in the strip club, with surprise in his eyes.

It becomes a game, to see how far he can push Arthur till he breaks. How far he can poke and prod. It's fun for a while. Cobb ignores it for the most part. Too consumed in his own thoughts as always. Arthur rarely puts up a proper fight, he's much more prone to lapse into angry silence. Which, as time passes, Eames cares less about.

He stops dreaming of Arthur. Stops watching him. Eventually he stops pushing. He never looks at Arthur's eyes. He never watches his face.

It's the last job they do together, though they don't know it yet. Cobb is more agitated than usual. Nervous. It puts them both on edge. It's a two level extraction. Complicated, but Cobb's the expert. He leaves for the second level with the target and leaves behind Arthur and Eames.

They sit at a table in a strip club. Arthur holds the switch for the bombs that will give Cobb the kick. Eames watches, with muted interest, the antics of the strippers. Only projections, their eyes pause on the unfamiliar Arthur and Eames. Already beginning to recognize intruders.

It's a strange urge, one he hasn't felt in months. But suddenly Eames wants to say something. Push a few buttons. He looks over at Arthur and smiles, sly and slow, "How is it?"

Arthur's glance is sharp and piercing, "What?"

"The only time you'll see a woman's bare body," Eames says. It's nothing, not even a good joke.

Arthur's eyes narrow, "Shut up."

"What?"

"Shut, the fuck, up."

"If you are seriously offended I don-"

Eames is too surprised to even really register the pain at first. But it's a solid punch and he tastes blood. He stares at Arthur, touch a hand to his mouth. Something sharp and angry stirs inside him.

When Arthur goes for another punch, it doesn't land. Eames knocks his hand aside, he stands, knocking the table over with a careless sweep of his arm. The projections are starting to stare. Arthur lunges for him before Eames can make a move. Eames snarls, trying to push his body off. But Arthur is quick and too close. He grabs Eames' head with surprisingly strong hands.

Eames wouldn't call it a kiss. It hurts too much. He can't tell if Arthur splits his lip with the sharp bite, because he's already got blood in his mouth. But it freezes him.

"Wh-"

"Shut up," Arthur says again, his voice just as angry. Furious even.

They kiss again, but this time mouths connect and something shoots down his spine like a rocket. He wants to crowd Arthur back into the seat, explore this new idea like he would someone's mind. But Arthur won't let him and pushes back, steps closer, shoves, until the backs of his knees hit the cushions and Eames collapses onto the booth seat.

Arthur's eyes are like steel. There is no give. He looks just as angry. Eames reaches for him, wants to smooth out his lines. He's so young, but he's already all angles. Arthur shrugs off his touches like rain. He pulls of his tie while he bites at Eames' neck. Eames is confused until there's silk against his eyes.

"What the hell?"

Fingers press to his mouth, "Shut up."

Eames bites on fingertips, getting only a hiss of breath for his effort. Arthur's breath is harsh in his ears, over-loud even against the backdrop of cheesy 80s rock. Arthur is hard, his erection pressing through tailored pants into Eames' thigh.

There are hands on him, searching, over his chest, into his pocket. He hears his lighter strike and smells the smoke of his favorite brand of cigarette within moments, all while he can feel Arthur's erection against his thigh. Eames reaches out, but his hands are pushed away. "Don't make me tie them back." He represses a shiver.

The pressure of a body against him disappears and there's a sigh, not his own. Fingertips trace lightly down his legs, palms pressing to his knees. He suddenly becomes aware that he, himself, is achingly hard. Hard enough that he knows he's showing. As if in acknowledgment he feels the pressure of knuckles against his seam and arches up into the touch.

There's a disapproving hiss and he sinks back down. There is a hot wet feeling that could only be a mouth pressed to his thigh through his trousers. Eames moans a little and feel an answering moan reverberate against his leg.

He wrinkles his nose when Arthur blows a puff of smoke into his face, but turns his face looking for the source. A hand grabs his chin, the fag is pushed in between his lips and he takes a drag, sucking it deep into his lungs until he feels like choking on the stuff. His legs are pushed apart, drawing his pants painfully tight over his erection but he doesn't make a sound.

There's a kiss pressed to the inside of his knee that he feels clearly through the fine Italian silk. He clenches his hands into fists next to him when Arthur drags his nose along the seam of his pants, closer and closer.

His hands twitch upward, but the leather of the seat stretches out, crosses over his wrists and pulls them tight to the seat. He starts, stretching against the bonds. A hand presses to his chest pushing him back down. His ankles are next, trapping his legs spread wide. He forgot that Arthur started out learning to be an Architect. He always had too little imagination, he couldn't come up with those little details that made a place real.

A question tickles at his mind, but is tossed aside when Arthur presses his mouth to the fly of his pants. His breath catches at the hot air pushed through cloth, at the pressure. "Ah- yes-" he manages before Arthur claps a hand over his mouth. The smell of smoke grows stronger and he has to assume Arthur is taking another smoke.

When they kiss this time he can taste the smoke on his breath. The slick slide of tongues is edged with Arthur's teeth, encroaching and painful. He's really all angles.

Arthur is tilting his head with a hand and arguing with his tongue when Eames feels his fly unzip. He moans into the mouth on his and it's gone so fast he wonders if he dreamed it. There is a heat between his legs as Arthur settles back down.

He hisses in pain, though it doesn't hurt much, when Arthur stubs the fag on his knee, putting it out. Eames is much more interested in the fingers pulling his shirt out and pushing it up, tracing over hipbones with careful touches. He doesn't expect Arthur's fingers to be as soft as they are, careful, like he's trying to remember something.

It is with sudden shocking brusqueness that Arthur hooks his hands into Eames' pants and yanks them down to his knees. He opens his mouth in silent surprise when his ass hits warm leather. He wants to reach out, find where Arthur is, he wants to draw him close. For all the walls he puts up Eames has always been the sort who likes to have sex in the sunlight. He likes to see and be seen. He's deprived in every sense when Arthur pulls away entirely.

He turns his head, as if hoping to find a sound over the music, over the sounds of other people. He wonders how long until the projections attack them. There is a slithering sound and a clink, followed by the sound of something being opened. His right hand is released and he flexes it warily, wanting to reach out but torn by the desire to keep playing the game. Arthur takes his hand and spreads something wet and thick over his fingers, lube. Eames shivers as Arthur gets on the seat. His legs are on either side of Eames' and he's kneeling above him, guiding Eames' fingers. Eames brushes a thumb beneath Arthur's balls, feeling the shiver that runs through his body.

Arthur bites his neck when Eames pushes a finger into him. He's tight, but that's hardly surprising. Arthur bites at the smirk on his face, pushing his tongue into Eames' mouth while Eames leisurely finger fucks him. He pushes up into the kiss, trying to take control, but Arthur pulls away, coming back to press a surprisingly gentle and chaste kiss to his mouth.

The music is thumping low and deep now, vibrating the seat, thrumming through his body. He takes a deep breath trying to steady the rushing of his blood, but it catches in his throat when Arthur grabs his hand and pulls it away. Eames presses his face forward catching a whiff of cologne, just able to touch his cheek to a smooth silk vest as Arthur lowers himself onto Eames' cock. Arthur is unimaginably tight, painfully so. And Eames knows this must hurt.

He wills himself still, breath rattling out through his teeth. They're a little too crowded for this to be easy. Eames pushes his still free hand up under Arthur's shirt, touching what he can't see. Arthur's cock rubs against Eames shirt, hard and leaking.

When Arthur moves, Eames has to throw his head back against the seat, hips jerking up helpless into the steady downward push. Arthur's breath is jerking and staccato in his ear. He almost doesn't hear the words that come from Arthur.

"How many-"

Eames jerks his head a little, questioning.

"How many times did you dream this?" Arthur pants in his ear. Ice. He is frozen, breath caught up like when he was little and fell through the ice in the pond at Pennyworth. Choking on the ice and wet, choking on the truth.

"How many?"

Eames shakes his head in desperate denial.

"Was it ever like this?"

There's a chuckle and for the first time since he was blindfolded he closes his eyes, no longer trying to see.

"Mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling."

Hands rip them apart. Tear them to pieces. A thousand hands. A hundred. Eames doesn't know. He doesn't cry out in death. When his eyes open he is staring at the roof of a basement.

He sits up tearing out the IV, Yusuf looks up startled from where he's tending a middle-aged Indian woman. Eames looks around, desperate. The bed next to him is empty. His eyes flash back to Yusuf.

Eames doesn't bother looking, Arthur is long gone.


End file.
